


Fortunes of War

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place at some indeterminate point in the future, when the fortunes of war have brought Laurence and Temeraire to Paris, as guests, prisoners, or whatever fine line there is between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortunes of War

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Esteliel

 

 

Laurence had intended to say as little as possible. Honor demanded that as he had been respectfully treated, he must act the gentleman. Conversely, the exigencies of the service demanded that he say as little as possible to the Corsican Ogre who now was either their captor or their host, depending on one's point of view. Therefore, he had determined to play the part of the extremely taciturn gentleman, the only possible course in his opinion.

His relief at seeing Temeraire unharmed and in good spirits was tempered by finding the dragon in conversation with the Emperor. Upon entering the surprisingly large dragon pavilion, he saw Temeraire leaning forward on his haunches, the tip of his tail twitching, a model of interest.

"Tell me then sir," Temeraire was saying, "why does Laurence say that you are a despotic tyrant?"

Napoleon half turned, giving Laurence a quick glance.

It was far too late to beat a cowardly retreat and pretend that he hadn't heard, so he schooled his features to what he hoped was formal impassivity.

The Emperor of France wore the blue and white undress uniform of chasseurs, unadorned with any medals or plumes, well cut but entirely unremarkable, an ordinary looking man of forty, with dark hair and a profile that was not handsome but was at least pleasant. He gave Laurence a look, his sharp dark eyes twinkling, his mouth twisting just a little as though instead of an unforgivable _faux pas_ it was nothing more than a joke between them. "Because Captain Laurence is a patriot," he said. "And he is obliged to oppose me at every turn. He follows his orders, and it is not his place to question whether or not England has just cause to make war upon France."

Temeraire drew his face into what might have been a frown, had it been upon a human countenance. "Do you mean to reproach me? If it is not our place, then whose should it be? After all, we are the ones who are supposed to do battle with French dragons, and to kill them or be killed."

Laurence drew near, and satisfied himself with a very correct half bow in the Emperor's direction, not so much as he should grant a head of state, but more than precise for a superior officer. "My dear," he said, "it is not so simple. There are many reasons why we have been at war, and I do not understand all of the twists and turns of diplomacy."

Temeraire looked down his long nose at the Emperor, who seemed not in the least disconcerted by sitting between a Celestial's claws. "Doesn't he understand, then? If he is the one who has made the decisions on one side? Should we not ask him?"

Laurence hesitated, seeing the trap entirely too late.

Napoleon shrugged, his mouth widening into a smile. "But my answers should be self-serving, should they not? You cannot trust what I would tell you about my reasons or France's. I am hardly a disinterested party."

"It seems to me," said Temeraire, "that no one is. How can anyone be a disinterested party who is alive today? Perhaps in two hundred years someone can look at our battles entirely objectively, but I will not live to see it." He switched his tail in annoyance.

"I doubt two hundred years should be time enough," Napoleon said. "Can you find a historian who is entirely objective about Caesar, even though eighteen hundred years have passed? Or Alexander or Mohammed?"

"Do you class yourself as a king or a prophet?" Temeraire asked very seriously.

Laurence nearly choked.

To his surprise, Napoleon laughed. "As an emperor, clearly. I've never imagined myself a prophet. And surely a semi-divine origin is no longer required. I'm afraid my mother would have no patience for the notion that she had congressed with Zeus or Ammon."

"Ah," said Temeraire, a semi-confused tone in his voice, as though uncertain whether or not to take the last part literally.

Those fine dark eyes caught Laurence's again. "The half-man half-ram part would surely offend her," he said.

And Laurence found himself smiling in spite of himself. He stood in graver peril here than he had on any heaving deck, on any field in his life.

Some part of his mind recognized the danger. And some part didn't care.

 


End file.
